


Tipsy

by jonessjughead



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Clint is mentioned - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve is Awkward, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, seriously fluffy as hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonessjughead/pseuds/jonessjughead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for one half of the couple having a little too much to drink. Natasha likes to indulge in a little wine now and again. Usually she's good at pacing herself. This time.. not so much. Steve is awkward and his inner monologue shows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tipsy

**Author's Note:**

> Take me away I finally wrote fluff without having some kind of angst involved

Natasha didn't drink except when she did. Which wasn't really a problem for Steve, considering the only thing that could really manage to get him slightly past sober was some amberish, hottish liquid from Asgard that put Stark on his ass so fast it was actually really alarming that Steve wasn't dead from the stuff. Clint abstained, like he was prone to do with anything stronger than beer or the occasional wine/champagne- "I like the glass shapes shut up" he said, face pink as he swallowed down the remainder. But Natasha, she could do just about anything. In the evening, she'd tend to do harder stuff, but before that it was wine or champagne or beer, simple, "light" stuff.

So when Steve found her in the kitchen mid afternoon in the middle of refilling a wine glass, cheeks flushed pink, he knew something was... weird. "Nat?" he asked, peeking at her. She smiled at him, took a sip from the glass. "Are you okay? Are things, I mean, is everything okay?" She set the glass down, smiling still. "I had too much wine." she answered, and in the sloppiness of her words he could tell. She normally had crisp, clear speech. Articulate, master of the English language- and it was like, her twenty-something learned language. he actually didn't know. Just that she was really impressive when it came to knowing languages. Now, her tongue was lax, allowing the Russian accent to weigh on her words where she never allowed it.

"Um." he didn't really have anything else to say but that. She made it over to him with surprising grace, even when a little more than tipsy- he could never call her drunk. She didn't allow it. Drunk was a sloppy word, spilling things and slurring words. Natasha Romanoff did not get _drunk_. She got tipsy, or maybe even a little bit more, but drunk was never a word in anyone's vocabulary regarding her. Clint said she was 'way too graceful for that shit'. And maybe she was.

She laced her arms around his neck, looking so chipper he was actually... afraid. Of what she might do. "Dance with me." There wasn't music, and he couldn't dance, but he needed to obey, this one, simple request. He didn't really understand why, except Natasha never asked for much, ever. She always, always left things to herself. He didn't think she'd ever asked for anything in her life from them out of combat, or training, except maybe privacy. She stood on his bare feet with her own sock-covered ones, looking completely blissful as she laid her head against his shoulder, fingers swirling gently along the back of his neck, at the hairline.

He misstepped, and stumbled just a little, jostling her from this quiet moment of dance, holding on tightly as she almost fell with the sudden jerking. Steve felt guilt. She was a dancer, tried and true and graceful. He was, well... damn, he was awful. She met his eyes, looking at him curiously, until she dissolved into bubbling laughter, laying her head against him again as she shook with her own laughter. Steve joined her, shaking his head in disbelief as she laughed, looking so happy. He wasn't sure he'd ever seen her laugh like this. It was fucking beautiful.

Her laughter quieted to that soft, breathy sort that interrupted whatever was about to be said, wove its way between words and made everything just sort of.. happy. "I love you." she managed, sobering if only for a moment.

Steve blinked at her, temporarily crashing mentally. This was worse than that time Jarvis had needed a full reboot. How did he function? What was the proper response? He thought there was a thing for Hawkeye? Not that aforementioned Avenger was really taking the rumors one way or another for the general public. "Dude, no. Once upon a time, but no." was his official announcement to the Tower group.

She was still looking at him, oh fuck. "Yeah." he choked out. _Yeah?! Really?! Someone says they love you, even with a little too much wine, and the answer is fucking **yeah?!**_ She didn't look all that fazed, giving a shake of the head and a half laugh before she tugged him down and kissed him. Okay, he really did almost die because the Black Widow herself, all dangerous trained assassin, able to make guys piss themselves in fear with the right smile, was actually kissing him. Holy shit. _Wow._ For about half a second his brain gave this sort of mental spark of something, something good, really.

She pulled away and stepped down from his feet, corked the almost empty bottle- _holy shit, Nat, really?_ \- and dumped the remainder in her glass down the sink. "Um." he managed to get out. She raised a brow like she hadn't just fucking overloaded his senses with dancing and kissing and proclamations. He delved down into his awkwardly fidgeting self and decided, _fuck it._

It was maybe two steps to get to her, pull her into a kiss and fuck he didn't exactly kiss a whole lot of people what the fuck _how_ the fuck- her fingers were in his hair again, and that was good, that was- that was really a whole lot better than that one time from the forties with- well, that was in the past- and fuck, he was doing everything so out of order. And he forgot to breathe. Shit. He pulled back, straightening up, trying really hard not to breathe hard from lack of oxygen because he was a moron, really, who the fuck forgot to _breathe_. Was that really a thing when kissing someone? Was that common?

She was looking at him through this awkward as all hell inner turmoil, watching him subtly keep brain cells from dying because clearly being frozen in ice until he was ninety years old was clearly preserving them.

"Do you want to go to dinner sometime?" Perfect. She just kept her eyes on him. Her brow furrowed ever so slightly in thought. Oh, fuck, fuck, did he just make a fool out of himself?

"Okay." she answered, casual as could be, smile creeping up again. "Alright." he answered, nodding. "Good. Um, good." There was about half a second he had to beat down a, 'thank you' from leaving his mouth.

How did he make it to ninety?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
